


Les Fleurs du Mal

by Seiberwing



Series: Wild Oats [1]
Category: Batman (1966), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Closeted Character, Drunkenness, Flower Themed Cocktails, Gay Bar, M/M, No Sex, Only he's not a teenager, People Thinking They're Clever, Teenage Rebellion, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiberwing/pseuds/Seiberwing
Summary: Dick Grayson slips his Batleash and hits a sleazy bar in an attempt to be a tough young rebel without a cause. Unfortunately, his drinking companion has him utterly outclassed, and Dick finds himself riddled with even more stress the next morning.





	1. This Bar's for the Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's not clever if no one knows what you're talking about, [Les Fleurs du Mal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Fleurs_du_mal) was a book of poetry by depressed 1850s poet Charles Baudelaire who wrote about decay, sex, ennui, and being edgier-than-thou. Also lesbians. He really liked writing about lesbians.

Dick Grayson hadn’t realized how hard it was to get out from Bruce Wayne’s cloak until he actually tried. He loved being Robin, don’t get him wrong, and he had no real objection to his guardian swinging by the college at least once a week to check up on his progress even if his roommate thought it was a little smothering. Studies, of course, were overwhelming and he had all manner of extracurriculars to keep up regardless of whether he actually enjoyed being president of half a dozen clubs or teams, but a good citizen had to be well-educated and well-rounded. But trying to find an evening where he could slip out, free from unexpected phone calls, visits, and Batsignals? It took two weeks just to find a spot in his schedule where absolutely no one would want his attention.

Researching appropriate facilities also took work. He had to make discrete phone calls and look in the phone book, because little of the criminal underclass would tell a clean-scrubbed young man where to find a good dive bar for sowing wild oats in. Well, slightly rambunctious oats. By the time he took a stool at the end of the slightly sticky bar in ‘The Flower Shop’, wearing a leather jacket and ragged jeans, Dick realized that he had absolutely no idea what was supposed to happen here.

“What do you need, man?”

“Uh.” Dick stared up at the large barrel-chested man behind the bar, whose ruddy beard went halfway down to his navel. All right, this couldn’t be too hard.

He’d been inside bars before. Usually he ordered orange juice or soda pop, because they were really only there to nab a criminal and Batman was sitting on his shoulder making sure his eyes didn’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t. The only alcohol he’d ever tasted was a discrete sip of brandy while they were at the house of a less clean-living hundredthousandaire.

He’d had plenty of odd poisons and sedatives courtesy of the local criminal population, not to mention several kinds of mind-controlling substances and love potions, but never a whiskey on the rocks.

“I’ll—a beer. I’ll have a beer.” There was a large neon sign saying BEER over the employees-only door so that was probably a sure bet.

“What kind of beer?”

Dick waved his hand in a devil-may care fashion. “Just a regular beer, no frills.”

The bartender stared at him for a long second, trying to suss out if the little man was trying to screw with him, and then sidled off with a mumbled ‘coming right up, man’. ‘

Dick spun on his stool and looked out across the span of the bar. This might already be a bad idea, he thought, thick boots dangling half a foot above the floor. All he’d wanted was a peek at how the rougher side lived. He wanted to bask in the reek of a smoky bar and watch people get into bar fights. He’d wanted to _live_ a little. You couldn’t blame him for that, right?

Dick drummed his fingers nervously on the bar. He scanned the room, his crimefighter’s brain picking out hidden weapons and meaningful scars. What if they recognized him as Bruce Wayne’s youthful ward (he wasn’t youthful anymore, all right, he was halfway through _college_ , he was old enough to drink and party all he wanted)? He’d probably get mugged and have to play along with it. Or worse, they might even tell Bruce.

This was such a bad idea

Dick’s eyes fixated on two…okay, what were those? They had long nails on their fingers, which they happened to be tangling in each others’ short hair. Both were wearing collared flannel shirts.

Some couples just liked dressing alike, he guessed. In the shade he couldn’t tell which one was the girl. They broke to chat with what was definitely a woman, going by the fake diamonds ringing her neck and the thick makeup that made her features stand out in the darkened bar. She wore a dress befitting a lounge singer, if lounge singers came in six foot two.

Between the men leaning on each other and the women dancing so close together, it seemed to be a friendlier place than he’d anticipated. Not that he wasn’t capable of taking two thirds of them in a fight and outrunning the last third, but he wasn’t here to be Robin. He was here to be Dick Grayson, aged twenty-one, free man out drinking on the town.

Dick jumped as the bartender grunted “One beer, no frills” behind him. A tall glass of dark liquid topped with foam was thunked down onto the bar. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks!” said Dick, immediately wincing at how high and perky his voice went. “I mean, uh—“ By the time he’d gotten his baritone together the bartender had gone on to find a less cultured person to serve.

Okay, Dick. Drunken debauchery time. Dick took a sip of the drink and tried not to make a face. It was thick and bitter, the taste stinging his tongue and the back of his throat. “Gyurch," he said with as much delicacy as he could muster.

“It’s an acquired taste,” said the man sitting next to him. His lanky legs were curled up on the ledge below the bar stool in a way that made him look like a perching bird. The neon lights behind him made it hard to make out his facial features. 

“I’m more of a whiskey on the rocks type,” gasped Dick as he set the beer down again. Good job, Dick. You can't even get drunk like a normal person, look what Wayne's done to you.

“I imagine. Really, the beer here is swill, it’s the cocktails I show up for. They do a lovely one with vermouth and dry ice.” Long fingers slowly swiveled the straw along the bottom of the man's half-empty martini glass.

“Huh. I’ll try that next.” Dick forced more of the bitter drink down his throat, this time controlling his expression to hide his disgust. He straightened his back and puffed his chest out to further impress his masculinity upon his drinking partner.

“Yes. By the by, what is it that gives you a bounce while laying you flat?”

The man had a voice with a smoothness like caramel that seemed just on the bare edge of a laugh.

Dick tilted his head and mouthed at the lip of the glass as he thought. The bite of the alcohol was making Dick's head swim a little. Psychosomatic, hopefully, or his constant exposure to knockout gas had made him vulnerable even to two swallows of alcohol. Dick stared out at the dancing men for a long minute. “Hops. Beer’s made with hops. So it’s hops. Right?”he asked, turning back to his companion.

He could see the change in the man’s silhouette as the curve of a smile twisted up his face. “Quite a clever boy. Mr. Grayson. At least you know your chemistry, if not your palate.”

Dick felt his heart go into overdrive. “You know me?” This was bad. This was horrible. He was going to get into the yellow rags and Bruce would find out all about it and he’d have to run away in a boxcar to become a nameless hermit up in the mountains to hide from his shame. Dick put one hand on the bar, ready to flee until the man put a firm hand on his shoulders.

“I follow the society papers,” he said, with the neon highlighting his sharp grin. “I doubt any of my compatriots are going to recognize you. Context is everything, really. You don’t expect Bruce Wayne’s loyal ward at the Flower Shop, so you don’t see him even when he’s there. Basic psychology. I'm quite sorry to have startled you, though. Let me buy you a house special, for your trouble?” The man waved to the bartender and asked for a pair of Honeysuckles, sliding a few bills across the bar.

Dick settled back down again. His shoulders were still tensed up. “So you know my name, what’s yours?” He looked sideways at the man, whose hand slithered down off Dick’s shoulder and back to the bar.

“Call me Alan.”

“Alan what?”

“Alan “let’s leave off the last names”. ‘Alan’ giggled. “ I’m only touring, anyway.”

The drink came in a widemouthed glass that led down to a narrow glass stem. It was golden with white froth along the rim, and topped with a straw that curled into a loop before coming back up again. Dick took a hesitant sip and found it pleasantly sweet, with a delicate flavor that was delicately supported by an odd bite.

“Better?” the man asked.

“Yeah, much better!” Dick took a long, hard sip of the drink and let his shoulders fall with a long exhale. This was more like it. Drinking at a dive bar while tattooed bikers sat on one side and a mysterious stranger on the other, with the lights low and the music pounding around him. There were never any secrets from Bruce and as much as he loved the man there was so little space between their lives that it was impossible to breathe. The slow bubbles of the Honeysuckle could be something he held only for himself.

Alan’s fingers were on his wrist. Dick looked down, expecting to find his watch stolen and then remembering he was keeping it on the other arm. The long fingers trailed over the ridge of his trapezium and up to his knuckles, making him shiver. His face felt warm.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m curious,” said Alan, as if he were analyzing the contents of a mundane car engine. He ran his fingertip over the back of Dick’s hand. “What do a rich boy’s hands feel like? Pampered and soft, never touching the base earth or opening a door on one’s own, or do your hands live the same as the rest of us—ah, I do feel those little scars. Boxing?” He lingered on Dick’s knuckles.

“Yeah. And some rugby. I do stuff like normal folks, I open my own doors.”

“But you don’t have to. Why did you come down here, Mr. Grayson? Surely your country clubs have their own brandy and chamber music, their own passionate embraces—though I’m sure the drinks are more mundane. Have another sip, it’ll turn lime when you get to the bottom. ”

Dick took another long drink and found himself already pushing the straw around the ice cubes at the conical bottom of the glass. “But that’s different, you know?” he admitted. The room had definitely gotten warmer. “Everyone knows me there. I’m supposed to be someone there, I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

Alan waved at the bartender again. “Green apple martini for me, and a Marigold for my sweet toothed friend.”

“Stop buying drinks for me. I have money.”

Alan squeezed the hand he’d taken custody of and then grabbed for the one reaching for Dick’s wallet. “You can pay for everything next time, how’s that?”

“What makes you think I’ll be in here for a next time?”

“Because being anywhere else seems to be driving you mad.” Alan flipped Dick’s hand and ran his finger across the ridges in his palm. “What does your future hold, Mr. Grayson?” He was leaning closer, so that Dick could hear him whisper, "Me, I’d hope, but that decision is entirely in your hands.”

Dick stared blankly at him, brain fumbling for a witty rebuttal. “That’s…that’s a pun, isn’t it?” Ugh, that had had about as much wit as a baby hamster.

It didn’t seem to put Alan off, however. “Clever boy.” And the other hand, the one Dick hadn’t been paying attention to, slipped up to cup his cheek and bring him in for a kiss.

Okay, what.

Dick’s lips moved against Alan’s, trying to find some logic in the madness. “I don’t. I’m not. I’m.”

“Shh.” Alan pressed in and his lips tasted like sour apple candy. Dick felt electricity run down his spine, pooling at the back of his neck and the place on his thigh where Alan’s hand came to rest.

This shouldn’t be his first kiss. There should be a girl. A milkshake. A ring. But Youthful Ward Dick Grayson wasn’t at home right now and Ambitious Barhopper Dick Anonymous wanted to keep holding the kiss for an hour.

“Tell me what you want,” Alan said in his ear. The neon at the back of his head when they parted put Dick in mind of a haloed angel. “Answer my puzzlement.”

“We’re in public,” Dick murmured. “We shouldn’t.”

“So are they.” Alan turned his face towards the dance floor. The lumberjack-looking men dancing so close together had closed the distance between them, brunette frizz pressing to pomade-straightened pale yellow.

Oh. So it was like that, then.

He’d found a magazine of drawings like that once, confiscated from a henchman’s bedroll and hidden under his cape when they’d raided the Black Widow’s hideout. It had been. Enlightening. Pleasant. Depraved, and he’d later ditched it in a restaurant dumpster out of terror that Alfred would somehow find it. Somehow his brain had never made the connect that this was something people did out in the real world.

The ruddy man clasped the hand of the blonde and led him out the back door of the bar. Dick let his mind wander to the magazine and what happened in the magazine after the page one kiss.

“What kinda bar is this?” he mumbled as Alan put the next drink into his hand.

“The fun kind.” He giggled, and the giggle tickled Dick’s brain in a way that seemed achingly familiar. “But tell me, Dick, what is it you want?”

Dick found the words spilling out of his mouth, regretting them but unable to keep them straight. He wanted to be something besides a smaller slice of Bruce Wayne. He wanted to explore life. He wanted…he wasn’t even sure what he wanted. The ramble went on and on as if he was a broken fire hydrant spewing his darkest desires out into the street, hesitating only when he couldn’t seem to find the right word for something.

Alan nodded, and made noises of utter understanding, and massaged Dick’s hand as lights swam in his vision.

“That butler sounds quite infuriating,” he said, as Dick was sloppily pawing his way through a complaint about being unable to hide anything at Wayne Manor that couldn’t be carried on his immediate person. “A busybody and a spy for your caretaker, crimes of double consternation.”

“I mean, he’s great. I love Alfred. But it’s a little easier when he’s got the night off. He tells Bruce things.”

“When does he have the night off?”

“Every two weeks. Tonight, actually. Was gonna be this or the manor, anyway. Bruce is off on…he’s off doing something. All week.” Off in Peru, aiding Bat-Hombre with something. Some kind of case thing. Maybe a crime. It was hard to gather facts together. “Nobody in town to bother me. It’s why I came here.” Words felt like marbles in his mough now.

Alan’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Well, in _that_ case, why don’t we retire to more civilized surroundings?”

Dick tried to stand and found his feet trying to walk out from under him. Alan looped Dick’s arm over his shoulders and carried him out of the bar, pushing past the men gathered around the pool table.

“You know, I’m not sure I can drive…”

“Oh, allow me. Stately Wayne Manor’s a bit hard to miss.”

“Y’sure?” Dick was shoved into the passenger side of a small car cluttered with a strange mélange of odds and ends.

“Just call me Al and pretend I’m your chauffeur.”

Dick found himself starting to nod off as they drove through the dark streets, spot-lit billboards harsh against his vision. Heavy fog was hanging over the tops of the buildings and he found himself musing on whether the tops were even there, or if they had fallen off and no one had told him about it yet. Alan was humming what sounded like the 1812 Overture to himself.

At the gates around the manor Dick passed over the key, and weakly directed Alan to drive around the side entrance. That took them through the kitchen, much less likely to leave footprints, though he found himself having trouble with the stairs. Alan was a nice man. They should do more kissing. Make it up to him for being so nice.

His room at the manor was kept up for when he came back on college breaks, though it remained unpleasantly juvenile. There was a bookcase of educational fiction and high literature against one wall, and a desk holding a globe and small telescope. On the wall hung a portrait of a famous general, none of the sports posters or movie posters that adorned his college dorm room. Even his college bedroom had to be kept spotless for when Bruce dropped in to visit, which Dick informed Alan of as part of his pile of Bruce-related complaints.

“Such a shame. Every college student is entitled to messiness.”

One hand flung out to hit the light switch, and Dick’s eyes were lit with a brilliant split-second flash of Alan’s face before Alan slammed his hand down to throw them back into darkness. Dick squinted at him.

“Hey, you know you look kinda like—“

“I get that a lot. Sit.” The purr was gone, which was a real shame. A voice like an irate teacher didn’t suit Alan at all.

“Mmm, don’t wanna.” Dick leaned up, hopeful for another sweet kiss—and then found himself shoved down onto his bed with his blanket thrown over his face.

“You’re drunk, kid,” Alan said. “This is where I take off.”

Dick whined in disappointment as Alan untied his sneakers and throw them into the corner. His limbs reached up and feebly smacked against Alan’s shoulder.

“But you said we’d have fun,” he whined.

“We will, we will,” Alan soothed, rubbing one of his feet. "But right now you don’t even know which way is up and that’s no good for either of us.” He leaned in to kiss Dick’s brow. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you something to remember me by. If you’re clever enough to find me again.”

“M’plenty clever…”

Alan took out a scrap of paper from his pocket and tore it in half, then scribbled something down and tucked it into the drawer of Dick’s nightstand. “Solve this, and you’ll have a proper invitation. Next time we meet I’ll give you a treat much nicer than a few liquid floral puns. Hm?”

“Not fair,” Dick grunted. He grasped at Alan’s pants leg, only to be pried away and pressed firmly back onto the blanket.

“It’s plenty fair," Alan growled. "Now go to _sleep_.”

“Mmm. Kay.” Dick’s eyes slipped closed, and he only had a few moments of impatience before sleep pounced like a hungry tiger.

 

~?????????~

‘Alan’ tucked the unused canister of knockout gas back into his jacket pocket. Good lord, was that boy a lightweight. Not that a Honeysuckle wasn’t the hardest-hitting drink in the bar, hiding under cover of sugar and juice as it waited to punch you in the face twenty minutes later, but he’d really expected to have to finish the job himself. Ah, well, it had gotten him into the manor with far less effort than a break-in and he’d rest on his laurels no matter what garden they came from.

Alan who was touring. Alan Turing. Wasn’t it great to be him? He let out a very, very quiet shriek of self-congratulatory joy.

Having sex in Bruce Wayne’s manor, and with Bruce Wayne’s ward on top of that, would be an interesting treat if he could arrange it. He preferred his partners to be properly aware of their surroundings and situation. A Dick Grayson aware of his situation would be a Dick Grayson screaming his head off for the police instead of screaming anything more interesting. Later, perhaps, when Dick had more time to soberly ponder upon his current life and how many more interesting places he could go once he wandered off Bruce Wayne’s reservation, later he could broach the subject.

And if he couldn’t solve such a basic riddle well enough to find where he’d shacked up he wasn’t worth the Riddler’s time anyway.

Riddler crept to the stairs, taking a moment to raid Bruce Wayne’s bathroom for ridiculously expensive cologne and aftershave. Then it was down to the first floor to hunt for that wall safe that millionaires always assumed they could hide under a garish painting. The house was, in his opinion, a mess—so many fancy things but none of them interesting. Dull portraits, worn books which were probably read only out of obligation, a small shelf of awards Bruce had won for being such a nice person in as public a way as possible. Dull dull dull.

The wall safe was behind a depressingly boring pastoral oil painting of a tiny man driving his sheep down towards the river as the hills rolled pleasantly behind him. Riddler’s quick fingers made short work of the lock. Quite a lot of jewelry in here for a bachelor with a male child, in his opinion—wedding rings, necklaces, a string of pearls that had been broken and were left pooled and unstrung inside a small velvet box. Mementos? Who knew, who cared. Riddler shoved them to the side until he found a box that was the right proportions and drew it out, opening it to let the gems shimmer in the dim light of the Wayne Manor lamps.

The Mariska rubies. Gorgeous and priceless, though not as much as the man currently holding them in his hands. Riddler plucked them every so delicately from their home and put them into his pockets.

He stole a paperweight off Bruce’s desk, hefted it to measure weight, and then put it into the case to counterbalance the weight of the lost stones. Then he uncapped a fancy name-embossed fountain pen and wrote, in elegant script, a message on Wayne Foundation stationary to accompany the paperweight to its next destination. Even without having time to prepare his latest heist, he was always assured of having a riddle on his person at all times.

~?????????~

Dick woke up to the taste of rusty steel wool across his tongue. He sat up and felt his stomach do somersaults, with a headache like he hadn’t had since Bookworm tied him upside down to the clapper of a clocktower bell and set it ringing out midnight.

Bruce was right. Alcohol was the worst.

He slithered from his bed and limped to the bathroom, pawing through the cabinet until he found an aspirin and then throwing himself into the shower. A Universal Bat-Antidote would probably be more effective but, he mused as he sat melancholy upon the rim of the bathtub to towel himself off, Bruce would want to know why he needed it in the first place. This was his punishment for disobedience.

On the other hand, the disobedience had been worth it. Dick tucked his fingers into his pocket, feeling the crumpled edges of the folded paper Alan had given to him last night. He did see Alan’s point, as disappointing as it might be—he’d overdone it, and wasn’t in a state to properly do whatever it was they’d been planning to do. Or had been doing before. But later? Why not? Later he could have more of the way those fingers crept up his wrists to his arms.

Dick rested his fingers against his lips, remembering the heat of Alan’s touch, and then carefully opened the paper.

Rather than a straightforward phone number, Alan had scribbled a set of numbers all over the page. Up, down, across, like a Sudoku puzzle, with tiny symbols beneath them that resembled ancient cuneiform. Under his sober eyes the numbers began to fall into patterns. He’d honed his mind on codes and ciphers, endlessly trying to stay one step ahead of devilishly clever foes, and he’d halfway to solved the puzzle before the puzzle itself caught up with him.

Oh no. Oh golly gosh no.

“Dick!” called Bruce up the stairs. “Dick, come down for breakfast, you’ll need to eat before we take the Mariskas to the museum! I know they’re very concerned that we’ve been able to keep them safe and I’d hate to leave them worried for much longer!”

Dick felt his headache coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Robin made a horrible mistake? Is this the end of his wild oats sowing? Will Riddler win the day?
> 
> Tune in next time, same Bat-Uncertain Time, Same Bat-Website!


	2. At a Loss for Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why does an ostensibly smart man like the Riddler not make the connection between Dick Grayson and Robin when they're the same age, same body type, same voice, and Robin wears a mask that covers maybe four inches out of his entire face?
> 
> The same reason nobody in the show figured it out in three seasons of Batman not being particularly subtle: Gotham has a bad case of selective blindness. If the show does it, then I can do it.

The riddle led to the address of a used bookstore. Dick left Batman chasing the riddle (“I am one but there are four of me, even alone I rise above royalty.”) in one direction and slipped away with the excuse of ‘splitting up to cover the bases’.

He’d been an idiot. Riddler had seduced him, drugged him, used him to get into Wayne Manor, made him accessory to a crime, and the next step would clearly be to blackmail him into committing further crimes. Dick’s skin crawled as he tugged his gloves on tighter and parked his Robincycle in the alleyway.

Dick was at Wayne Manor crying into his milk. This was his good friend Robin, here to avenge him. Totally not the same person who was shrinking and hesitating.

In his head Dick ran over the things Riddler would have said to him if Dick Grayson had shown up instead. He’d smirk the way he did when he had Batman tied up in one of his overcomplicated death traps and speak lasciviously of how Dick’s loved ones would react if they knew. Aunt Harriet might even get a heart attack, the poor dear, and Bruce would surely turn him out of the house in disgust. The papers would have a field day. The university would expel him. Riddler would leer and then offer the way out, a way to stay safe if only Dick would do a few small favors for him…

By the time Riddler actually opened the door the dialogue in Dick’s head had gotten so heated that Dick punched him on the face before Riddler could get a word out.

“You monster!”

Riddler fell backward, arms flailing wildly. Whatever cruel grin he’d been wearing to meet Dick Grayson was wiped clean away in an instant.

"It was a theft!" he screeched, trying to get his legs under him before Robin punched him in the gut. “This is—this is superhero brutality!”

“Why did you do it Riddler? Was it some sick joke? Isn’t that more the Joker’s realm? Did you think it would be funny to prey on a dumb kid like Dick Grayson?” Dick stepped forward, fist upraised for his next blow.

"D...wha?" Riddler held his hand over his face, as if trying to hold his teeth in. His wide, terrified eyes peeped out over his fingers. "Dick Grayson? I did nothing to him!" The air rushed out of him in a loud cough as Grayson landed a punch against his ribs.

“Liar. Was it a game?” Robin growled as Riddler toppled to the floor. “Grayson told me what I needed to know. You stalked him, tricked him into thinking he’d met a friend, and then you drugged him.” How had he possibly fallen for such a transparent ploy? Riddler must have been following him from the start, weaving his plans before Dick even made it to the bar.

It had to be that. 

"I didn't!" Riddler gasped, trying to crawl away from Robin. "Drugged? It was alcohol, and barely any of that!" 

“Then it was for blackmail. You wanted to get leverage on him.” Dick tried to regulate his voice. Robin was sounding much too personal, like this whole thing personally affronted him in some way. There was almost a sob at the end of that sentence. “Even for you that’s cruel, Riddler.”

The trouble was, Robin couldn’t take him into the police. Riddler would have no more reason to keep the secret after that. Even if he said it in a riddle, Batman wouldn’t let it go until he figured it out. 

One fist tightened, then released, as Dick realized he’d boxed himself into a corner. He had the bad guy; this should be a good thing. He’d done it all on his own…but he couldn’t bring him in. Not without risking his reputation.

So what the heck did he do with him?

Riddler was still cringing on the floor, having realized any attempts to flee would leave him further bruised. Typical Riddler. All gloating and pomp until he actually had to put up with consequences. “Could I at least know what I’m accused of?" he muttered, one hand still up to cover his face. Blood was dripping down his cheek from a split lip. “You people are such saints, so forgiving. What story did that mewing milksop even tell you if he’s so concerned about his reputation.

 _Okay, Dick. Calm down._ He was getting too emotional, too close. He couldn’t reveal his identity, not over something like this. “He wouldn’t say. He seemed very upset about it. As if he had done something, that you did something to him,” said Robin, forcing a high-minded tone on himself. “I chose not to traumatize him by interrogating him any further. I’m sure you wouldn’t have accorded him the same courtesy.” There, that sounded more like something Batman would say.

“I did nothing that he didn't ask for." Riddler pushed himself up on one elbow, then let out a gasp of pain. That is all you will get from me, but you may take it back to him if you please, the little darling."

“And why would he ever want to hear anything from you again? You are a liar and a malicious cad. He’s probably going to need therapy because of you. Luckily, he can get his in a hospital. You’re gonna get yours in a jail cell.”

No gloating. Just an angry, bleeding man twice his age sprawled out on the floor. Why?

 

“Just give me the jewels and you can go, with a promise you won’t tell anyone anything about Dick Grayson. He’s been through enough trouble because of you.” Robin folded his arms and stood with his back upstanding-citizen-straight.

"He is point blank lying to you if he thinks he needs a hospital,” Riddler hissed. He made another attempt to sit up. “If anything, I liberated him! I showed him a way out of his miserable restrictive lifestyle!"

“No!” Robin sounded affronted, lurching forward and making Riddler throw his arm up to shield his face. “He’s got a perfect life. With friends and family and people who respect him and if they ever…” Robin shook a fist and stopped himself before he blurted too much out.

"If it's so perfect, why would a simple home invasion traumatize him so badly? I am hardly the first. That manor practically lays out the welcome mat; half the archcriminals in town have invaded it at some point. The boy’s lying to you because he can’t stand the idea of letting go of daddy’s apron strings for five minutes., and he wants me to take the fall for it.”

Riddler grabbed a nearby chair and struggled to get to his feet. "I’ll fetch your jewels, but stop hitting me for what I haven't done!"

“You’ve done plenty to deserve it. And worse.” Robin stood straight again and let the Riddler up to get the jewels. 

Riddler stumbled over to a trunk in the corner, still clutching at his sore ribs. There was blazing fire in his gaze. "Whatever Grayson told you, it isn't the full story. He's lying to cover up his precious, useless reputation." He opened the trunk with his free hand, scowling. "If you have concern for his privacy you won't insist on trying to beat the truth out of me."

“He told me enough…and why would it even matter? The story is, whatever you did, you did it out of malice and greed. And whatever you did to him,” Robin said, stepping closer, standing defensively, waiting for that trick, “Whatever is making him feel so horrible about it, you made him feel like it was…fake, a lie, just like everything you do. I’m not surprised; but, then, I have more experience dealing with people like you.” Robin said spitefully. 

Riddler shook his head as he took the question-marked bag out of the box. He turned and gave Robin a look of disgust with a face that was quickly developing purpose blotches. "Of course I lied, it was in my nature. But I only lied about my identity--and Dick Grayson has done the exact same thing. It's only that he's told the lie to himself and feels the need to blame me for it." He threw the jewels at Robin, a weak and pathetic gesture that barely got the jewels across the room. 

Robin stuffed his hand into the bag to inspect them, making sure they were real and intact, looking at the Riddler with contempt. Riddler leaned on the table. His breathing was labored and aching. "If the plan was merely to kidnap why would I have given him the information you used to find me? I didn't think he'd revert to type so quickly, mind." His smile was more akin to a wolf's snarl then his usual joyful grin.

Robin huffed. Riddler couldn’t be right, he was a criminal. Nothing he said was true. Robin thought for a moment. Why would Riddler give him the address to the hideout? “Obviously, the next part of the plan was the kidnap him and embarrass him further. Embarrass the Wayne family.”

Riddler couldn't help but laugh at that. “What amazing lies Grayson weaves to protect himself from the truth, and what idiots you are to believe them. I know you and Batman are prone to exceptional jumps in logic, but that seems to be taking it too far. If I had wanted to kidnap him I would have..."

He clapped a hand to his mouth, grinning behind it. "Oh, but I've promised not to tell, haven't I? Preserve the poor lad's reputation, respect his wishes to drag himself into misery."

Color rose into Robin’s cheeks, his mouth set in a frown. “It’s not a jump in logic. It’s something that you could have done.” Robin walked over toward him again, slamming a fist on the table. He took some cruel pleasure in watching Riddler flinch. “Enlighten me. What would you do with him? If he had come here?” Dick wanted desperately to know; and his tone was almost begging for the Riddler to tell him the answer to the ultimate question: Was he just another cog in a plan or had it actually been something else? 

The flinch subsided. Riddler was clearly getting very annoyed with Dick Grayson and what his lies had done to Riddler's vulnerable body. 

“Fine, then. If he’s wanted all this done to me, I’ve got no reason to do him any favors.” He squirmed over to the other end of the table, still glaring at Robin. "I met him at a bar. He was wearing a leather jacket and pretending he was some lawless punk who'd just rolled in off the streets. He had one drink and then another--I paid the bartender to water down the second, since he obviously had no idea how to handle himself."

"At that point I could have done anything I pleased. I could have drugged his drink, or let him drink his way into dreamland while I stole his housekeys, or been entirely petty and let him actually get behind the wheel in that state. If I had wanted to kidnap him I could have done it last night without any of this fuss."

“Yes, so you have said…but why give him an address to you then? Why leave him the key to finding you? You wanted him to come here and you don’t have any henchmen here…what did you plan on doing with him then?” Robin leaned on the table hunched over, his palms flat on the surface as he tried to think. He caught sight of Riddler’s long fingers and tried not to let the view excite him.

He’d arrested the Riddler a dozen times. How had he mistaken the man’s silhouette for anyone else that night? His voice, for the voice of a friend?

Riddler sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Here's a riddle for you, boy wonder. Person A goes to a bar. Person B buys him a drink, the two get to talking, then Person B then takes Person A home. Person A invites Person B inside and Person B, upon leaving, gives Person A a way to find him in the future because Person A has a very valid reason to want to find him in the future. All the information is at your feet already. You are in a co-ed college and you live with an intensely eligible bachelor, you must be able to deduce something from that equation, even if your pathetic brain cannot wrap itself around the gender divide."

Robin gave Riddler a long, hard, intense, completely clueless look.

Riddler pressed a finger to his temple. “Ugh, but I hate giving clues. Grayson had a reason to find me again, but why would I leave him with a riddle if I wanted him to do so easily? Or when I could find him myself?”

“Because you wanted him to prove that he was smart…and prove he really wanted to see you…”

Riddler watched his face with cruel relish as understanding washed over him like a mighty wave.

“You…” Dick gulped. “I…um…I need to get these back to Mr. Wayne. And I don’t…” He didn’t know what else to say. His face was so red he felt certain he could impersonate a tomato. Right now hiding in the manor back garden forever seemed a tempting thought. “We’ll…Batman will find you eventually anyway. You just…you stay out of trouble and…”

Riddler turned away from him, recovering the hat that had been knocked back with the first blow. "Tell Mr. Grayson I’m happy to leave him alone. In fact, if I see his miserable face again I’m going to shoot him with Joker’s confetti cannon.”

Dick nodded helplessly. His hands moved on autopilot, putting the jewels away while their owner stood frozen in the middle of the evil lair. “That’s technically a…that counts as a threat you…those are…”

Riddler whirled in place. The blood smeared on his face and increasing swelling made his face look even more terrifying. 

“GET OUT OF MY HIDEOUT!”

Dick stumbled backwards, stuttered out something noble, and then fled the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end of Robin's dating life? Will the Riddler spill the beans? Does Batman get a clue at any point?
> 
> Tune in next time, same Bat-Uncertain-Time, same Bat-Website!


	3. An Outrage Demurred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little spicier, if that's a concern for you.

Riddler did not indulge in regular drunkenness outside of rogue gatherings. It dulled the senses and he usually only took enough to give himself a gentle buzz. Right now he just needed the atmosphere of a bar and loathing of the world, to surround himself with decadence so that he could resent those outside the walls of the bar.

There were two women kissing next to him and he shuffled one bar stool over so they wouldn't disturb his stormcloud. Riddler ordered another drink, light on the alcohol content and heavy on the caffiene.

He had been an idiot to leave his address behind. A child raised by Wayne would have no idea how to handle his own sensations. He'd just stomp on them and hide them so he could live in a sexless marriage with some rich debutante, who would be forced to seek other men in order to gain any measure of satisfaction.

And they called him the sadist.

He sat, sulking into his drink, willing the rest of the world to burn around him. Eventually he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, away from the dark-haired young man who had just slipped into the seat next to him.

"One does not generally hold up the bank and then come back to open an account," he said, not so much as deigning to look at Dick.

Dick had dressed in his normal clothing, clean-cut and wholesome. He wasn’t worrying too much about his reputation at this point. 

Dick had planned a whole speech, all that, however, had disappeared from his mind when he glanced over at the huddled figure next to him. Now he had to think of something else to say, but nothing, he knew, could undo what he’d done.

Half of Riddler’s face was dark with bruises, which he hadn't bothered to hide in the slightest. He toyed with his straw, then looked up at the shotgun hanging over the bar. The bartender shuffled a little closer to them as he presented to clean glasses, poised to break up a fight or an assassination depending on how this went.

“It’s not a smart move. But then, I’m just a dumb kid, right? How am I supposed to know?” Dick sighed. He felt a little spiteful, but Robin had taken too much revenge for whatever Riddler had done and then some. “I didn’t come here to fight…I shouldn’t have come at all. But…I just thought…I should apologize. For what happened with Robin.” 

For hitting you so hard, Dick thought. “When I found out you had stolen from the house I assumed you had used me to get in the house…used my…problem…my..quirk…against me, that you were playing with me. It made me feel awful. I didn’t know if you were…honest about that or not. When I told Robin that you had tricked me, I was angry…I wasn’t thinking about what would happen…”

Because Robin was prone to acting without thinking, unlike Batman. Dick dragged a hand through his hair, tousling it into a mess as he struggled to find the right words. It felt like a half-effort apology when you weren’t even apologizing for what you’d actually done.

Riddler spoke with jaws tensed tight. "Neither was he. He seemed to intimate that I had violated you in some way, betrayed you rather than giving you what you most desired." Riddler pulled out a silver case stamped with his insignia and slipped his fingers inside, fishing for a cigarette. "I suppose that's why he seemed determined to put me in the hospital."

Dick bit his lip, lowering his head as if he himself were guilty of pummeling the Riddler, which, of course, he was.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could have stopped him…” Or stopped himself. “It was wrong of me and Robin to assume anything about you. I guess we think we know people when they’re in the news so often and the truth is I have no idea how you think or feel about things other than riddles and theft.” Those things didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings.

Riddler lit the cigarette and took a deep, frustrated drag on it. "You couldn't take the matter at face value?" he muttered. "The idea of being with a criminal excites you, yet you throw a tantrum when you have exactly what you wanted."

“I…I…” Dick couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Well, of course it’s exciting. But we shouldn’t have whatever we think we want. It’s dangerous...and I can’t betray my families trust. They trust me and I can’t trust someone who betrays any of my trust. And isn’t that what it should be about?” It had to be a game of trust, trust that he wouldn’t die or get harmed and trust that if he was with someone they wouldn’t steal or lie to him.

"So if I didn't have intentions on stealing from the Wayne Family you'd have absolutely no problem with the matter?" Riddler nursed the cigarette like other men nursed their drinks, drawing comfort from the nicotine. He was still glowering, unwilling to give Dick any comfort.

Dick thought about that for a moment. “I…I might…” Robin would, but Dick might. “But I ruined any chances of that. And I’m sorry. I just wanted to say that. That’s all of it. I don’t expect you to accept it.” Riddler had his pride and his ego, things Dick just didn’t understand; these things wouldn’t allow him to lower himself to accepting apologies. “Probably isn’t fair to ask it.”  
“I’ll just leave you alone…”

Dick stood to leave. As his hand left the table it revealed a small pile of bills that covered the cost of last night’s drinks.

Riddler's arm lashed out and caught him by the sleeve, testing Dick’s instincts to immediately defend against an unexpected attack. He wasn’t even looking at Dick as he dragged him back to the barstool.

"Sit, boy."

Riddler made sure he was situated, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Why come down here to apologize?" he asked, tone curious. The young man had started interesting him again. "You could easily stay home and pretend this had never happened."

Dick chuckled for a moment, biting it back as best he could so that it didn’t seem like he was laughing at the Riddler.  
“It depends on which answer you want. The simple truth is: I realized I was wrong, Robin told me you hadn’t planned on harming me, at least not in a bad way,” a cheeky little grin was given at that thought, “and I realized you really did want to see me, I should have been able to figure it out before, but I didn’t have enough time to process. The jewels being stolen were my fault, but I tried to place that blame on you. Play with fire you’ll get burned, right?” 

Riddler smirked. "I'd take you out in the back alley and beat you with a stick if I wasn't concerned you'd enjoy it." Riddler couldn't help but share his humor, even if he'd been cursing his name all evening. "The leopard cannot change his spots and I cannot change my ways. I am wicked; take me as I am." He blew smoke in Dick’s face.

“I guess I have no choice, I don’t know if I can let it go at this point.” Dick coughed and hacked for a moment at the smoke, he’d never been around such things. That

Riddler chuckled at his discomfort. "Let what go? Me?" He slouched against the bar counter. "Did you really just come down here for an apology? In vino veritas, let’s not have lies this evening."

“Maybe I’d hoped you would accept the apology and possibly be willing to…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to think of a way to say it, without actually saying it.

“See me again?”

Riddler snorted. "I should say no, I really should. I don't know if I can trust you not to run to the Boy Wonder again the next time you feel the need for confessional."

“Never again.” Dick promised. He’d never let Robin act like that again. Next time he’d stick to Batman like glue and not let himself get out of control. “Your trust for my trust. I mean, as much as criminals get, I’m not gonna make you put yourself too much out there.” Lying was in Riddler’s nature, like he’d said. Robin just hoped he wasn’t lying about this. 

Riddler had a few more breathes off the cigarette while he pondered the matter. “Trust for trust,” he mused. “A dangerous game, and one that might put me as victim in another beating, but it might be worth the experience. A gentleman's agreement, then?" he asked, finally lowering the cigarette. A smile teased at his lips as he reached out to set his fingers on the back of Riddler’s hand. "You trust me not to blackmail you, I trust you not to expose my plans to Batman and Robin. Or have them assault me for it, because I hate being assaulted for things I haven’t done. Or things I have done, really, but one is more insulting."

Dick failed to keep his enthusiasm down. “Yes. I think that’s a fair agreement.” This was a horrible idea. This was such a horrible idea. But there were nails sliding delicate over his palm and it was making his toes curl and this was such a horrible idea.

"Hmm..." Riddler rubbed his fingertips against Dick's wrist, finding that sensitive little spot below the joint that made Dick’s breath hitch. "Perhaps. If you could soothe my bad mood."

Dick looked up expectantly because this was a horrible idea and he still didn’t want to stop.“Oh? Like what? Or am I going to have to guess?” 

"I am the Riddler, after all." He spoke the words in Dick's ear, his tone becoming sultry. "I never give it all away at once."

Ahem ahem.

Dick tried to think of something but those old hormones were up to their tricks again.

“Now, how could anyone forget that? Least of all me, the prince of puzzles,” and he loved how Riddler just beamed when Dick said his title, “So I just hope you don’t get tired of dealing with someone so much…slower than you.” Dick leaned in closer, he wasn’t sure what he should do, especially not when he was in front of people.

"The entire world is slower than me, dear boy. I'm used to it." Riddler leaned forward, brushing his cheek against Dick's. Never mind the crowds, they were hardly the only ones.

Dick felt giddy from the smell of him and the feel of him being so close He was even starting to enjoy the acrid smell of the cigarette smoke as Riddler left it to glow alone in a nearby ashtray.

“Good.” Dick pulled away from him just far enough so he could press his mouth chastely against the Riddler’s.

Riddler didn't let it stay chaste. He grabbed Dick by the back of the head and forced his tongue between Dick's lips. Nothing subtle here. The whole room ought to know about this, as darkened as it was.

Dick made a noise of surprise, his body tensing up as he was practically manhandled, which he didn’t seem to mind after a moment of adjustment and relaxed into the kiss. He let one of his hands move to lay on the Riddler’s side, trying to bypass any area that might be bruised from Robin’s fists of fury.

Dick could feel eyes on them, he’d gotten good at sensing that sort of thing, but he didn’t seem to care much. The delightful feeling of the kiss and this bit of assurance that he was wanted made him too giddy to care what anyone else was thinking or saying. 

Around them the patrons went about their business, though one woman did stop and point for her companions. Robin could just barely hear their whispering over the music on the jukebox.

_Look at how cute he is. No, the dark one. Makes me wish I liked men, y'know? Almost, I mean._

He ran his hand along the other man’s side, while the other hand moved to wrap around the Riddler’s back. Riddler liked being watched. He wanted everyone to know he'd scored with a pretty boy tonight, even if he couldn't let them know what kind of prize he'd won. His tongue trailed enticingly across Dick's lips. "If not your place," he whispered. "Then not mine either. I don’t feel you’ve earned entrance to the lair just yet. Might we go where hearts love to wander? And hands too, at that.”

Dick took a couple breathes when his mouth was finally free and he nodded. “That’s a riddle, isn’t it? I know that tone…I mean, I’ve heard it on TV…”

“Clever boy. Very observant.” His hand slipped around Dick's waist, escorting him off the seat...and then sliding a bit further south. “What secrets hide under this well-scrubbed skin and how ever should I go about unpuzzling it?”

“M’open to suggestions.” Dick felt that same headiness that he’d had the other night, but it wasn’t from alcohol this time, it was simply an intoxicating mix of hormones that made him willing and able. He thanked his lucky stars that these pants weren’t as tight as those jeans he’d worn the other night. 

The car was outside and waiting again, and Dick shivered as he wandered out to it. 

“Chilly out tonight.”

“I’m sure we can find a way to steam up the windows.

“The heart’s…Lover’s Lane? That’s where hearts wander, yes? Up at the top of Steamon Hill?” Steamy Hill, the adventurous youth of Gotham called it.

“Good!” Riddler cooed at him, and patted the top of his thigh. “Very good. A simple one, but we must start somewhere.”

People Dick knew from school might be up at Lover’s Lane. He might get caught. Somehow that did not dull his excitement or sense of adventure. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s start out there.

Dick was a little surprised at the speeding, but he couldn’t deny his eagerness, it showed on his face and in his posture, sitting on the edge of his seat, barely able to contain his excitement.

The only time he’d been up to Lover’s Lane was with girls whom he liked, really, he did like girls, but every time it ended badly or simply turned into nothing. He had a feeling Riddler wasn’t going to let anything like his other experiences happen.

The car sped out of the parking lot as if a checkered flag had been waved at it. "If you can control yourself long enough to get there, I recall you being quite eager..." Riddler sounded as if he could barely control himself either. “But this might get too exciting too fast if you did.” His foot pressed harder on the pedal. Oh, he did want to taste those lips and the noises they would make.

“Well, if that’s the case…” Dick leaned towards him in his seat to nuzzle along his neck as he drove, kissing what flesh he could find there.  
Riddler's fingers clenched the wheel. "You test me, boy," he said through gritted teeth, legs pressing together.

“Me? Test The Riddler? That’s one test I’m sure he’d pass.” Dick grinned, nuzzling and kissing again, abruptly switching it up and letting his tongue drag for a moment across the salty skin, alternating between tongue and lips now. 

Riddler's breath quickened. Now it was a race between his car and his libido. "Little coquette..." His eyes focused on the road as best they could. “You’re not even drunk. If you blame _this_ on drugs in the morning—”

“Confetti cannon?”

“Cruise missile.”

Finally, there was the road up the hill to the little cliff overlooking Gotham. When Riddler slammed the brakes Dick nearly hit the window. “And you keep saying I’m the eager one,” he laughed, once he’d peeled himself off the dashboard.

Parking break, seatbelt off, and Riddler tackled him into the passenger side door. His fingers locked around the shirt on Dick's back and his knee pressed hard as his hip. 

Oh god, Dick thought, what have I gotten myself into. None of his other dates had been this eager, expecting him to make the moves, and Dick had no idea what moves to make. Riddler allowed him no such awkwardness.

Arms were tangled around the man currently pressed uncomfortably, though not unwanted, against him. His hands ran down Dick's spine, tracking the line of his bones. "Do you know what you really want? Have you ever known? Have you ever even been up here with someone you couldn't wait to touch?" Questions, always questions. The world was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

“No, no and no," Dick gasped. He twisted so he could hold the Riddler closer, twining his arms around the man, trailing one hand up to his neck to rub against the short strands of his hair.

Riddler mouthed at his throat, shivering with excitement. "All the more I'll have to show you," he whispered, crawling further into his lap. “Riddle me this: Where do I even begin…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fade to black?! What fiendish things will the Riddler do under cover of darkness? What improprieties will come next? Has Dick Grayson gone too far this time?
> 
> Tune in next time, same Bat-Uncertain Time, same Bat-Website!


End file.
